Finally United

A/N. Unfortunately, I own nothing but a Netflix subscription and a love for British television. Sherlock belongs to Doyle, Moffat, Gatiss, and the people at BBC.

"No! Sherlock!" John screamed and his eyes popped open. It was the same dream every night. Every damn night.

He rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, even though he knew it would be nearly impossible. He hadn't gotten a good night's sleep since Sherlock...fell.

Every night he saw Sherlock jumping. Heard Sherlock's voice telling him lies that he could never believe. These dreams were worse than his old dreams. So much worse.

His old dreams had been terrible. Awful. But these were a million times worse. Because as Sherlock fell, John realized something he should have realized a long time ago.

He refused to acknowledge what everyone had told him-that Sherlock was dead. He had kept Sherlock's things, and the apartment, pretty much just as it had been two years ago, just in case Sherlock ever came back.

Two years. Two incredibly long years had passed since John had last seen Sherlock. His limp was back, along with the new and worsened nightmares. John went to his therapist a few times, but he just couldn't put what he was feeling into words. Even if he could, he knew that he wouldn't. It just wouldn't feel right.

There were little things that changed in John's daily life. He couldn't bring himself to go to the grocery store he used to shop at, and kept his phone on him at all times, just in case. He had taken to wearing Sherlock's scarf everywhere. Somehow, even two years later it still smelt like him. He made two cups of tea everyday, purely out of habit. And he hadn't left the apartment to do anything other than what was absolutely necessary.

John put on a good show though. To an outsider, he would seem fine. Not necessarily happy, but not terribly unhappy either. Those who knew him well saw straight through him though.

That's why he found himself sitting on the couch having an extremely uncomfortable conversation with Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"It's been two years John. Don't you think it's time to, you know, do something? See someone?"

"You know I can't do that Greg."

"John. Please. You don't have to stay the whole time. Just come, talk to some people, and you can go home. Easy."

John looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Lestrade gave him a small smile.

"Come on John. It's time."

John closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine. I'll go."

Lestrade grinned. "You won't regret it. Friday at 8. My apartment. You remember how to get there?"

"Yeah sure. See you then." John said and shook Lestrade's hand. "Thanks." John managed with a little half smile. Lestrade walked over to the door, and turned around to face John. "You won't regret this mate. I promise." With that Lestrade took his leave, and John sunk down in his chair. "Wonderful." He muttered.

Lestrade stepped onto the sidewalk, pulled out his phone, and typed out a quick message. "He's coming."

A/N. Sorry for the short chapter! The next one will be up soon!